


Crawl on me

by Varuni



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:10:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6789571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varuni/pseuds/Varuni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt and Foggy haven't talked in a while. Suddenly, they're making out and, maybe, making up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawl on me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [what_alchemy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_alchemy/gifts).



If there's a thing Foggy likes about his new job, it's how it's contributed in redefining his taste in booze. Turns out a good scotch can be an absolute delight for the palate and, contrary to what passes for Josie's higher standard, beer can taste better than cold dishwater.  
The company... well, the company could be better.  
But successful attorneys with radiant, perfect smiles and hearts open to change and risks are not that bad, if it's just for one evening a week. And who the hell is Foggy to judge, anyway?

Foggy's been happy to discover, after two weeks at Hartnett, that he's well liked and respected. The fact that people continue to actively look for him after they got to know him better still amazes him in approximately seventy different ways. There's also Lisa from second floor who, according to Jeremy from the same floor and to Marci who's on every floor she pleases, has got a huge crush on Foggy and a shrine of his photos at home. The altar thing is yet to be verified by any of Foggy's contacts at the firm. To be honest, he doesn't know how he feels about idolatry.  
Foggy bets Matt would feel very strongly about idolatry but Matt's not here, Matt's elsewhere - probably getting broken, dismembered and killed. So fuck it.  
And now his pleasant evening of classy intoxication is ruined, like it always happens when he starts thinking about Matt and considering the void his friend left behind and how much Foggy feels it too many times a day to count. It's not healthy, this  
bitter, arid feeling he's been experiencing for the last three months. He'll look into it, one day or another. Thank god for small mercies, tho, because at least this time Foggy is facing his loss like a pro, instead of crying and laughing hysterically on Marci's shoulder, a secret that's not his to tell stuck in his throat.

 

They don't meet as much as bump into each other in court. Foggy is not sure why Matt shows up, since Matt's not a lawyer at the moment, hasn't been for a few months. He's not sure of his whereabouts and Daredevil activities, but Karen, who Foggy has seen very randomly and always for a few minutes, a quick coffee and an even faster chat, has been vaguely hinting at Matt being exclusively focused on his vigilante career. Claire, who Foggy sees, surprisingily, fairly often has declared hers a “Matt free life” and looked at Foggy like she wasn't happy at all, but felt relieved nonetheless.  
Point is: Matt's here. In the flesh (less flesh than usual on his bones, for what Foggy can see) and his jaw set, a sign that tells Foggy that Matt knows he's here and is not comfortable with it.  
He debates internally, for all of ten seconds, if the best strategy would be to turn around and go the other way, all the way down the end of the corridor and using the bathrooms as his trench. But Matt, Matt would know, and Foggy might be many things, but a coward is not one of them.  
“Matt”, he nods, going for detached and landing in polite-mama-boy territory.  
“Foggy”, Matt answers, and he doesn't sound much more at ease, “how are you-”  
“Franklyn! Over here!” and that'd be Lisa, using her loud voice to require his attention... along with that of other ten people who can't help glancing curiously in their direction.  
Foggy points behind his back and Matt's body seems to mirror his movement, taking a step forward. “I have to go. They reached a verdict and my client is gonna kill me if I'm not there. It was...“  
_Brief? Painful?_ Useless meeting you, since we don't know how to talk to each other anymore, and even if we could, _would you_?

Matt nods, makes a hand gesture meant to say “go on, I'm not keeping you” and Foggy would love to, love to be important enough to be kept, but apparently that's not what Matt is about.  
So he waves awkwardly, feels like a tool because he's a grownup and should know how to use words and murmurs, “bye, Matt”, before joining Lisa at the door.  
He knows he shouldn't look back before entering the courtroom, because whatever expression Matt is wearing, it won't be good for their choice to keep their lives apart from each other.  
Also, Matt is probably gone already, less fazed by their encounter than Foggy feels.

However it is, Foggy does turn around and looks back. Oh, he does.  
And Matt, Matt is still there.

 

The trial is a success. They get smashed, Lisa flirts with him for the great part of the evening in a very awkward way that he actually finds endearingly sexy and will revisit once his body mass is not 80% good tequila and 20% elation. He fades to sleep the second his head meets the pillow. When he wakes up he's not even hungover, which means he's becoming an adult or that, once again, a nice paycheck can buy better tequila, which will in turn give you a higher quality hangover.  
He turns towards the window and stretches, preparing for a saturday of self-indulgence. Maybe he'll do some work from home, have a nice gelato in the afternoon. Perhaps with Lisa? Should he call her, as a friend? The sun gets in his eyes, pale gold and sharp, and despite the ridiculousness of it all, Foggy gives himself a few minutes to feel pleased that somebody likes him.  
He's not sure how, but between picking up a few clothes from drycleaning, working on the Reyes case (a young man accused of having murdered his ex-girlfriend's new beau a few hours after he had been dismissed from the hospital. He so got this case locked down) he stops and realizes it's almost 8 o'clock.  
Call Lisa tomorrow? Maybe. Maybe it's a bad idea, just like Marci said the first time he mentioned Lisa in front of her.  
Foggy's not sure how much of Marci's feelings of... whatever she feels for him, he never understood and probably never will, come into play with her generously  articulated advice.  
Still, it's always better to take her opinions in consideration. He's trying to decide if his hunger deserves a quick run to the nearest Indian or if he has the ingredients – and patience – to prepare something from scratch, when his doorbell rings.  
He hopes to god it's Fred from 2B finally coming back with Foggy's ladder and a thousand apologies. The fllthy thief.  
He opens the door without thinking, which is fifty shades of stupid given what he does for a living and who he used to associate with.  
Oh, and it's who he still associates with, apparently.  
“Matt.”  
“Foggy. Hi.”  
“Hi. You're here,” Foggy echoes, morosely. “And, I may add, I'm glad we're here, managing to make this as awkward as possible from the get go.”  
Matt nods, eyes big behind his lenses. He doesn't say a word, and Foggy thinks for a moment that since he's the one who decided it was a-okay to show up unannounced at Foggy's door, he should talk first. Right? Right.  
“Fuck. Come on in, don't stand there. I have a nosy neighbour who thinks everyone is a Jehova's witness.”  
Matt crosses the treshold with very little confidence, but the moment he's inside he abandons his cane against the wall and looks a tiny less out of order. What he doesn't look like is relaxed, which oh boy, can Foggy understand the sentiment.  
“Have you eaten? We can order in, if you plan to stay and talk. I was gonna have a bite anyway, so...”  
“Yes. I'd like to,” Matt interrupts him, lines on his face slowly evening out, specially around his mouth. He manages to look stubborn as fuck all the same, and Foggy feels a sharp stab of nostalgia and regret.  
Foggy nods, goes to retrieve his phone and prepares himself for an evening of yelling and recriminations.  
He looks back at where Matt is now sitting, back straight as an arrow against his couch. wearing some soft shirt that makes him look younger and smaller, and decides to order more than what four grown men can eat. If they have to scream at each other, he's going to at least feed his ex-best friend before telling him to fuck off. It's basic good manners, after all.

“Look at us,” Matt smiles, once the food it's gone and he's nursing his third beer, “being all grown up and mature in the same room.” It's the first thing coming out of his mouth after half an hour of chewing like two starved lions. It's also a sentence that rubs Foggy the wrong way, for some reason.  
“Yeah, that's easy, when there's nothing left to say.”  
“What? What the fuck, Foggy.”  
Foggy stands up, suddenly agitated and feeling ten times worse than this morning, when the sun was bright and his only worry was how to waste a few hours until dinner.  
“Sit down.”  
“This classy shithole? It's my apartment, Matt. I'll let you know that I'm gonna do what the damn well I please in my apartment.”  
“Foggy, you can run a marathon, I'm all for it. I'm just saying that there's no need to be so nervous. I come in peace and all that. You're the nerd.”  
“You're the nerd, nerd” Foggy mutters, but he does sit down, albeit very slowly, just to show Matt that he does what he wants at his own rhytm.

“You know what? I'm tired of playing the blame game,” Foggy tells Matt, all the while idly playing with the label on his beer bottle.  
“I'm gonna admit I was... I reacted poorly, if you want. I drank too much instead of calling you and asking you what was happening... but being friends is a joint effort too, ok? You can't expect me to do all the work, call you to see if you're all in one piece... more or less, because you're more often than not carved like a ham! And! On top of that I had to do so much at the firm, and I was alone most of the time. Karen did her best but it was my ass on the line in court, Matt.”  
Foggy pauses, shakes his head, tries to keep the hair out of his face.  
“I mean, who does that, Matty? Who leaves his friends behind and then doesn't expect to be grilled at least a little?”  
“A little?” Matt stiffens, turning halfway and someway managing to match Foggy's stare with his own, disbelieving one.  
“Buddy, you walked away while I was trying to explain! Almost every time I was telling you the truth, you deemed it not enough pleasant to your liking, or decided that I didn't care.”  
“So your solution was to run away with Elektra? She almost crushed you once, you fell for it again-”  
“I'm not some naive masochist, Foggy. I know what she is. Was. I've seen her change, in some ways. And I was alone at that point. No Foggy, no Karen, not anything. What difference did it make at that point?”  
“Ok, maybe it wasn't a little nagging, it was constant chiding for a while... but I wouldn't have, Matt, if you'd told me the truth! Or at least the majority of it. I know some things are private, like Elektra and what you two had... but the moment she hurt you or tried brainwashing you or whatever the hell she did, Matt, I had the right to be angry. Even if you loved her.” He pauses, voice going lower. “Love her, still.”  
Matt shakes his head, slowly. “I don't know. I think I... understod her life. Even needed it, all that carelessness. I'm always afraid I'm gonna hurt and let down the people I care about. Then I act and do it anyway, so wouldn't it be better if I didn't care at all?”  
Foggy shrugs, squints into the shifting shadows in the living room. He's afraind Matt is gonna start crying, and then he'll cry and they're going to be both more miserable by the end of the night. “And what about Stick? He was molding you when you were a kid. Shouldn't I be preoccupied if you start listening to him again?”  
Matt hums, licks his lips and snorts, “I'm cool with you worrying about me. I care about you, too. More than life. It's the... throwing words like wacko and mad around that made me feel like shit.”  
God but Foggy can be a shitlord too, when he wants. It doesn't feel that good to be reminded of this simple truth.  
“I think we should stop drinking, bud. Drink less, at least? But, since I have to go to the bathroom, Matt, my man, stand guard. Don't let anyone take my beer while I'm in the bathroom!”  
“There's no one here, buddy,” Matt smiles, relaxing against the back of the couch, stretching his legs.  
“No one, Matt!” Foggy repeats, before standing up and giggling. “I've got the spins,” he announces, before not that steadily beginning his march down the corridor.  
“Good for you, buddy,” Matt smiles, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes.

“The leakage has been taken care of!” Foggy declares when he comes back, letting out a “oooompf” when he all but collapses back on the couch.  
Matt's head is in his lap one moment later and woah, Foggy didn't expect that. “I missed you,” Matt murmurs, and Foggy's heart does a summersault.  
“Same here,” Foggy manages, berating himself soon after because really?  
They sit there, smiling at each other like idiots, until -  
“Matt, buddy... how are you eating? Because you scarfed down everything tonight, but if you're not working...” Foggy pauses. He hopes Matt isn't using his status of supreme alley connoisseur to call dibs on the best trash cans and their contents.  
“No, you ass. I get by. I work as a legal consultant. The cases are smaller and not as important, and I don't get to take them in front of a judge, but... I'm managing.”  
Foggy nods, relieved but still not 100% sold. “I promise I'm okay, Foggy. If anything, I've been eating less because I missed a good company.”  
Foggy exhales, closes his eyes and keeps the tears at bay. “Have you also become a cat? I don't remember you fronting as a lap animal when we were at Columbia.”  
“You're very soft and you smell clean. I'm awfully hungover. Deal with it.”  
“You're such a leech, Murdock. Buy your own comfy couch.”  
Matt laughs, starts talking about this gang he managed to defeat last week, all on his own, with his fists and his ridiculous costume. It's nice, even if Foggy doesn't like the part where Matt is left alone, shedding his blood once again.  
He listens in silence, absentmindedly playing with Matt's hair. Matt seems to squint at him, then returns to picking lightly at his shirt after a brief moment of hesitation, “How's Marci?”  
“Oh, you know her. Making interns suffer, eating small puppies to stay young, she-”  
Matt moves so abruptly Foggy doesn't even know how it happens. The only thing he knows is that lips, soft and a bit chapped, are suddenly pressed against his, Matt's balancing himself upright with a hand on Foggy thigh. It hurts a little, to be sincere, because Matt is a grown man, but then he's cupping Foggy's jaw, the palm of his hand light on his skin. “Matt?”  
“Is this okay? Please, Foggy, tell me it's okay.”  
They kiss again, and this time is longer, and wetter, until Matt decides he has to prove he's in a better shape than he is, using some contortionist maneuver to sit on Foggy's lap before grinding down.  
“Oh, fuck,” Foggy groans and Matt's throat responds with a low sound of his own.  
They kiss, openmouthed and filthy, which is probably not the usual standard for a first date, but then this isn't even a date. What the hell is this, Foggy's mind inquires, but Foggy shuts it down.  
There's a perfectly viable, comfortable couch at their disposal. That must be why they end up on the carpeted floor, making out and grinding against each other like teenagers with more hormones than sense.  
He moves his hand to help Matt undo his fly, popping the button and hissing when Matt strips him quickly and just a bit on the rough side. All is forgiven, tho, when Matt wraps his hand around Foggy's dick and strokes, lips leaving open mouthed kisses on his throat all the while.  
Foggy shudders and clenches his teeth, lest he says something embarassing, before tugging Matt's pants down. Matt's hand falters and he wiggles to help him, letting out an inarticulate plea once Foggy starts stroking him in turn. Soon they're moving against each other, naked skin making their thrusts easier and fluid. Foggy wiggles and manages to turn them on their sides, hands going low and moving along the dip between Matt's firm buttcheeks. Matt pushes against him, panting, impossibly close, a small “oh” of surprise, before he kisses him again, and again. Foggy doesn't know after how many minutes he feels Matt going slack, wet warmth hitting his stomach, but it's what sends him spiralling down, crying out while he rides the high of his orgasm.  
“We should have done that sooner,” Matt says after they catch their breathe, pleased, hair in disarray and Foggy is startled into laughter.  
“Maybe.”  
Matt is stroking his side, face tucked against his shoulder.  
“Give me a few minutes,” Foggy promises, patting the strong fingers. “Then we can shower and maybe rest a little. It's been a long day.”  
Matt hums in agreement, lets his arm fall against Foggy's stomach, and breathes, slow and warm against his skin.

The morning light is pouring into his living room, white and strong, and the only sound is that of his own steady breathing. Foggy sits, feeling groggy and almost sick, and takes a look around. So, no Matt in sight, as expected. Foggy can almost picture him in his mind, his handsome face scrunching up at the memory of last night, his haste retreat while Foggy was sleeping under a flimsy blanket. If it's possible to backflip and vomit at the same time, Matt might have done that.

Still, it sucks.

He feels a bit better after a long shower, calls Brett just because he can – and he's feeling quite petty at the moment – and they meet for a quick exchange of infos. Brett brings a box full of his wonderful mom's cookies, takes a look at Foggy and says “Man, you look awful. Is Murdock around again?”  
Foggy flips him the bird and they part ways with light insults that warm Foggy's heart.

 

By the end of the day, there's still no news from Matt, and Foggy is livid.  
That's why, when Matt calls, sounding out of breath and confused, he almost doesn't answer.  
Almost.  
“Hey.”  
“Foggy, I wanted to apologize. I heard this cry-”  
“Woah, buddy. Let me guess: you ran away and forgot to text? Or leave a message before leaving?”  
Matt's silence speaks volumes of how dangerously mad Foggy sounds right now.  
“Foggy, if this is about last night-”  
“I don't care about last night.”  
“Really? You sounded pretty mad just right now!”  
Foggy clears his voice, feeling so, so stupid. “Ok, Matt. Listen to me: it was a mistake. We were drunk. It won't happen again. Case closed.”  
Matt's laugh sounds incredulous. “Are you having a gay crisis? And here I thought I was the one ridden with catholic guilt.”  
“Goodbye, Matt.”  
Foggy hangs up, almost breaking the button in his fury. He switches his phone off when Matt tries calling him a second and third time.  
He doesn't expect Matt to show up at his door and apologize. That's why he feels like an even bigger moron when he's disappointed that Matt doesn't.

 

How he manages to get to the office that Monday, he doesn't even know. After lunch, he stirs his coffee and takes a sip, wincing as he scalds his tongue. Scowling, he places the cup on the desk and his attention is caught by the open door of Marci's office. He sends her a text, asks her if she wants to come by for dinner. No benefits included.  
She replies with a winking emoji and a crying one. Then she adds “that was a yes, by the way,” and Foggy prepares himself to an evening of hard truths.

“What have you done this time?” Marci asks the moment she's inside his apartment. “Jeri is freaking out because a third of her employees are suddenly AWOL, for one reason or another. It'd be hilarious, if not for the fact that she's asking me questions. And you know how much I hate being drilled. Well, I say hate...”  
“I had sex with Matt. Murdock,” Foggy blurts out. There! Like taking off a bandaid the size of England.  
Marci all but smiles, marches towards the kitchen table and sits, kicking off her heels before crossing her legs.  
“So, you're not talking now?”  
“No,” he agrees through clenched teeth, heading for his kitchen, “not too much.”  
“Alcohol. Ice cream. Whatever. Pull out the big guns, Foggy.”

 

“And then he ran away first thing in the morning while I was sleeping my beer coma off, Marce. Who does that? Sure, he called me after and told me he had... had this emergency. But still.”  
Marci hums, gestures to continue.  
“Then he told me how I felt, the big dick - no jokes, I will end you – but I told him 'no, Sir, you might have had my body, you're not going to have my soul. You also have my soul, alright, but just a tiny, tiny portion.”  
“Good girl.”  
“Shut up. Sorry. Then he basically told me he didn't know what happened. I think he's also making it up as he goes, Marci, but al least he's not in denial and I'm not, Marci. Right? I like girls! You know that!”  
“True, true,” Marci agrees, and that's when Foggy knows she's going to shred him to pieces.  
“Were you thinking about my beautiful bosom while you were having sex with Murdock?”  
“What? No!” “About your first crush, then? Your favourite actress?”  
“No, what...” “Then I frankly don't see a problem, here. Specially if we take into consideration that you and Murdock have been joined at the hips and acted like two halves of the same pathetic apple since college. The way you act around each other has always been disgustingly close and codependent.”  
Marci drowns the rest of her glass and smacks her lips. “At least now you get to have sex with each other.”  
Foggy huffs, not even finding the words for the preposterous theory he's just heard.  
“Fuck him. Love him. Stay with him for the rest of your lives or just for two months. Don't throw a good thing away just because it's new and you don't understand it. You're men, you don't get the true meaning of what's in front of your noses half the time, anyway.”  
Foggy looks at her in disbelief. The worst is that he feels like he should thank her for the scolding.  
“Are you... telling me to date Matt?”  
“It's an order, Foggy Bear. I adore you and every haircut you sport, but you can be a handful and an idiot sometimes. Be happy. No, be gay.” Marci starts chuckling like she just came up with the world finest joke, and he can't help but smile at that.  
“Foggy Bear,” she adds, swaying a little on the chair. “I appear to be more inebriated that I initially thought. Mind if I crash here for a bit?”  
And really, what could he say to his favourite Cassandra? She looks perfect in the morning, and he looks like he hasn't slept in days.  
Go fucking figure.

A bottle of wine is open before him, the taste of half a glass already on his tongue, and he swallows as he dials the familiar number. Matt picks up quickly and Foggy hears faint noises around him,  
“Hey, Fog.”  
“Are you on a roof?”, Foggy inquires, one second away from facepalming because really?  
“Well... technically is a terrace“, Matt considers, “but it's almost as high as-”  
“Shut up, no. Listen. Listen.”  
He stops. He cannot do this, they cannot do this. It's insane, and detrimental to the rebuilding of their relationship, and from a self-preservation standpoint is likely going to send them both to their early graves. It's also stupidly, immaturely hedonistic.  
“I'm coming over”, Matt says briskly from the other end of the line.  
“What, no.” But Matt cuts the connection and Foggy falters, unsure whether or not to re-dial.  
He tries to fight the churning in his gut as he debates whether or not Matt will really come over, but in the end he puts the bottle away. This time, he's going to be sober when they talk.

11 p.m. His doorbell rings and he yawns as he opens the door.  
“Don't ask what I'm doing here because I don't even know,” Matt says as he gets in.  
“Hello to you, too.”  
Foggy says nothing as he ushers Matt inside, the door closing softly behind him. He stands in the centre of his living room, eyes darting about, landing somewhere behind Foggy's head.  
“What?” Foggy snaps, because he looks like he doesn't even want to be here, honestly.  
“I thought you had overcome your gay crisis and came out of it more heterosexual than ever”, Matt tries to joke, landing in sour territory if Foggy has to be a judge. There's a vein pulsing in his forehead, for Christ's sake.  
“What? What are you talking about?”  
“You smell like fake peaches. Like Marci,” Matt murmurs averting his eyes and oh.  
Oh.  
Foggy tries not to take it personally – he wouldn’t want to “see” him, either, if he thought he did something (and smelling like he does, and being what he is. Which is an impulsive idiot).  
“Oh god no, Matt. I swear to god-”  
“Don't swear.”  
“Well, God will deal with it. I swear Marci slept over just because she would've thrown up on the taxi driver if she went home in that state. She even used the guest room,” Foggy adds, triumphantly, before taking Matt to the room in question and gesticulating. “Here. Have at it! Sniff away or whatever it is you do.”  
Matt tilts his head, takes a deep breath and then his hand finds Foggy's.  
“Let's go to your room.”  
“Sure, I mean, you should trust me already, but I guess-”  
“No. Not for that. I know you didn't... she wasn't...” Matt exhales, closing his eyes. “Thank you. It would've hurt me. You could've hurt me, but you didn't.” He pauses.  
“So we're not playing anymore?” Matt asks, his voice shaking, pitching higher on the end.  
“I mean... if you still want me-” Matt starts again, looking embarassed.  
“Yes! God, sorry, but I truly mean hell yes, Matty.”  
Foggy takes one step forward and stops immediately. “Let me clarify. It's not for the sex, even if we're amazing at that and I love sex. But I'd really, really love to not-break your heart, if you let me.”  
Foggy spreads his arms, feeling much less brave than what he's trying to convince Matt he is, “I mean, what's the worst that could happen? They could kidnap me to lure you into a trap, sure-”  
Matt starts shaking his head but Foggy marches on “BUT! You would save me. And we can always microchip me, I bet Stark industries have the right technology.”  
Matt chuckles, but he still looks pretty worried and not that sure of his superhero resources.  
“So, about that tour of my bedroom?” Foggy jokes, and Matt follows him until he comes to rest his knees against the edge of the bed. "C'mere," Foggy growls when Matt takes off his shirt and throws it somewhere behind him.  
Then he nearly upsets the bedside table looking for condoms and lube.  
“We could forego the condoms,” Matt suggests, nosing against his neck, the little minx. “You tested?”  
“Yeah. And I haven't gotten laid in forever. Well, except...”  
“Ok, stop with the romance, Bronte brother.” Matt shakes his head, a smile on his lips that Foggy has to kiss immediately. Matt lies down on top of him, hands reverently caressing his sides.  
Foggy arches against the warm weight of him. He slides a hand up Matt's chest and leaves it pressed firmly against his heart. “I want you. Am I lying about that?”  
Matt shakes his head no, kisses him once, almost chaste, before teasing Foggy's lower lip with the tip of his tongue.  
It comes easy, this kissing thing, it's like they were made for it. Foggy doesn't even realize they're rocking their hips together and pressing close until Matt emits this frustrated groan and pushes his hands under the waistband of his pants.  
Foggy reciprocates, tells himself he's shivering because of the sudden chill on his now naked lower half and not because he's nervous.  
Matt grasps his shirt, wringing it in his hand until Foggy's not longer wearing one single piece of clothing. “Strip already, my beautiful warrior,” Foggy fake-swoons and Matt throws his head back in laughter.  
He manages to get completely naked as well, 'cause he's good at multitasking, and the second he does he's back on top of Foggy, kissing like his life depends on it. He gently scrapes his teeth against Foggy's nipple ring and Foggy moans loudly, before going almost boneless on the flat surface of his bed.  
Matt uses his teeth, tongue and lips just right, never hurting him but decisive in what they do. Foggy's cock is so hard already and he's not even been touched there.  
He decides to leave it alone for the moment, since Matt is there, and instead cups Matt's buttcheeks, giddy at the idea that he can. Matt's muscles flex under his palms, and they slide against each other again, undulating slowly.  
“Wanna fuck you. Want you to fuck me. Both, I don't care,” Matt blurts.  
“Okay, yes. Yes, please,” Foggy babbles. It's hard to tell how they manage to stretch him enough, since half a bottle of lube ends up on the sheets and Matt keeps slipping. He just knows that the moment Foggy straddles his waist and his cock nudges against Foggy's opening and then presses inside, just the tip, Matt freezes. “Don't wanna hurt you,” Matt apologizes, jaw tense and hips moving a tiny fraction, clearly restraining himself.  
"No, no, don't stop," Foggy moans, and fuck it, he's rolling onto his back, drawing his legs up and spreading them to accomodate Matt's body. Matt is on him after a brief esitation, and pushes slowly inside, taking his time and kissing Foggy's face, which is frankly too much. (Foggy loves it.)  
After a brief resistance Foggy's body is clutching at it, clamping. Foggy lets out a deep sigh, stroking his fingers lightly downwards, over Matt's back.  
He feels slippery with lube, and full with Matt where he's hard and taut. It's absurd, and exhilarating and not at all like he imagined – and feared.  
Matt is withdrawing now, angling and teasing it inside just enough to make Foggy's breathing catch, causing his jaw to slacken and clench again, when the sensations hit him more strongly.  
He can feel the flush creeping up his neck and cheeks, a match to the one Matt's already sporting on his skin.  
Matt keeps kissing him, deep, dirty kisses that leaves both panting, and bottoms out completely. Foggy arches his spine, moans, resting a hand on Matt's back, then moving it to his snapping hips.  
The bed is squeaking quietly with the force of their motions.  
Matt and Foggy's responding thrusts are never quite even, almost erratic and frenzied at this point.

"Oh, fuck," Foggy whispers, his cock tickled by the restless shift of the warm soft flesh covering Matt's abs. He tilts his head back, arching against Matt, his body starting to pulse, hotter, everything beginning to falter...  
“Foggy, god, you're so tight, you feel so good,” Matt is babbling, seemingly close as well.  
“Fuck me, that’s it. Fuck it, Matty, please...”  
Matt praises him, whispers how amazing he feels, stroking him slowly and then faster, until Foggy is leaking between their stomachs, all over his trembling fingers.  
“God, you're making me come, you brilliant bastard, oh,” Foggy groans, body convulsing as Matt drives deep inside him, kissing his open mouth. “Perfect,” Matt moans, speeding up, almost hurting him with his thrusts, the sharp line of his hips hard between his trembling thighs.  
“Don't you dare stop,” Foggy orders, pushing back against him, chest and neck sticky with his release. Still, he needs a little bit more, even if bliss is already making him loose and relaxed. He hums low and satisfied as Matt grinds his cock deep inside him, moving his hips like the filthiest dream and suddenly coming inside him, tongue tracing the salty trail against Foggy's skin.  
He all but collapses on top of Foggy, and since they're still them, they start chuckling and they last ten minutes before having to make a quick snack break.

 

"So I have this theory," Foggy says not even a hour later, partly because his mouth will get him into trouble whenever possible but mostly because Matt has him pressed against the sheets again and he smells extremely good and they both lost track of time sometime between the first and the 100th kiss.  
“A theory,” Matt repeats, his thumb moving tenderly against the contour of Foggy's mouth.  
Foggy nods, “yeah, don't be a dick and listen. What if we give it a try, again. Nelson & Murdock, new and improved. Huh? I think we'd be good at it. Also, I don't think we can debauch each other every other night and then go opposite directions like a year ago. It's horrible, for one thing. Just think of how many times we could have sex in the office or take our work home and then have sex.”  
Matt's grin reminds him of that of the Cheshire cat.  
Foggy's not sure if that arouses him or terrifies him; probably both.  
“Matty?”  
“First of all, your sexual appetite worries me. I'm willing to sacrifice my body because I'm that selfless, but you should see a doctor. Also... you remember some of the things we said in bed, after our orgasms? Like, thirty minutes ago?” Matt asks, smile firmly on his face, before very effectively grinding his hips down in a circle.  
“Yes?” Foggy tries not to moan, failing spectacularly while he remembers the details.  
“That thing we'll try on each other after a long, thorough shower-” Matt continues.  
“The thing that rhymes with bim job? That thing? Please say it's that thing.”  
“Yes, Foggy. Don't you think it's time for that shower, bud?” Matt asks, his eyebrows arching, before taking hold of the hair at Foggy's nape and tugging.  
“Oh god. Yes,” Foggy murmurs against Matt's stubble-rough cheek.  
Matt bumps their noses together, finds Foggy's mouth again and they finally shut up.  
At least until it's shower time.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a plot in mind, and it sounded classy and delightful to my overexcited brain. Then, one of my wisdom teeth decided it was time to come out and see the world (hence my posting really late, apologies), so I was only able to produce a tiny amount of angsty plot and... the rest is porn, frankly. To what_alchemy: I almost had a stroke when I discovered my recipient. (I also considered retiring into a monastery to avoid the task, ahem). I've loved every fic you've written, cried on top of a couple of them, no big deal. :D
> 
>  
> 
> Also yes, I'm still on painkillers.
> 
> Also also, the formatting went to shit three times, so I'm posting it anyway.


End file.
